


one is silver, the other's gold

by spookyfoot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post canon, and in regular russia too, basically everyone loves phichit which is as it should be, in soviet russia everybody loves phichit, phichit visits russia, thailand's future zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Out of the goodness of his heart, and because he wants an excuse to eat blini without worrying about Ciao Ciao’s eagle eyes, Phichit had agreed to grace Russia—and Victor’s latest ice show—with his presence. He’s only in Russia for a few days, which is probably as much cold as he’d want to withstand. Victor and Yuuri have shuttled him around the city, showing him that St. Petersburg has more to offer than ice and snow and a friend that he’s missed seeing in person rather than on video chat.But tonight, they’re ensconced in Victor and Yuuri’s apartment. Victor’s off dealing with a last minute lighting emergency—(“How the lighting designer failed to account for all of the sequins I’ll never know. It’s figure skating!”)—though Phichit suspects that it’s mostly to give Phichit a chance to spend time with Yuuri rather than Victor-and-Yuuri. There’s a movie on the flat screen behind them.“Do you wantWhat Happens in Phuket Stays In Phuket,Tongue Thai-d, orTurn Down for Wat?” Phichit asks, bottles dangling from his fingers.





	one is silver, the other's gold

**Author's Note:**

> written for thailand's future, a phichit chulanont tribute zine <3

Phichit lands in Russia and instantly texts Yuuri “where can i find a space heater immediately how do u live like this?” 

 **Yuuri** :  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 

 **Phichit** : o right i forgot u have a personal space heater at all times.

 **Phichit** : may b that’s why he’s so touchy. bc in rus body heat is just another jacket

 **Phichit** : trust u to find the person who’d rather be ur personal space htr than 5x WC

 **Yuuri** : i mean…he’s also my coach

 **Yuuri** : also…what’s going on with your texts?

 **Phichit** : 2 cld 4 my fingers

 **Yuuri** : already turned up the heat in the apartment to 25

  
//

  
A month and a half ago, Victor and Yuuri skated their most recent medal winning programs at the inaugural edition of Phichit on Ice. Victor, mopping his forehead, shiny with perspiration courtesy of Thailand’s humidity, wondered how the ice didn’t melt.

“You have no room to complain about weather.”

Victor had opened his mouth to protest but Phichit had looked at him, and said one word: “Snow.”

“I see no argument here.” 

“Victor, while I’m sure that in another timeline you were a very successful infomercial salesman who sold a lot of one use kitchen gadgets, I lived in Detroit where wind chill has a star turn in the weather report so I’m not buying it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Victor had said, entirely unconvincing.

And it’s not that bad.

It’s worse.

By the time that Phichit staggers out of the elevator and into the long, vaulted hallway that leads to Victor and Yuuri’s apartment, he’s progressed from “frozen solid” to “thawing on the kitchen counter.”

While Phichit’s primary reason for shifting his home rink to Thailand was to be closer to his family, not having to wear a minimum of seven layers every time he stepped outside in the winter was a huge plus. Detroit Skating Club’s temperature was strictly regulated to make sure the ice stayed frozen, but it felt like laying on a white sand beach while sipping Mai Tai’s compared to the literal tundra outside.

Then again, Phichit thinks, Russia is actual tundra. Official biome status and everything.

His nose still feels like it’s going to fall off once he finally reaches the door. It swings open before he even knocks.

“Phichit!” Yuuri says.

“How did you even know I was here?”

“Makkachin,” Victor says, emerging from the depths of their apartment to wind an arm around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri flushes, and looks away. “I might have looked up the traffic once you texted that you were getting in the cab, too.”

Phichit places a hand over his heart and immediately regrets it. His jacket still feels like the weather outside.  

“That’s so thoughtful, Yuuri. I’ll mostly forgive the fact that you willingly choose to live in a freezer.”

“There’s tea inside.”

“Bless you.”

//

Out of the goodness of his heart, and because he wants an excuse to eat blini without worrying about Ciao Ciao’s eagle eyes, Phichit had agreed to grace Russia—and Victor’s latest ice show—with his presence. He’s only in Russia for a few days, which is probably as much cold as he’d want to withstand. Victor and Yuuri have shuttled him around the city, showing him that St. Petersburg has more to offer than ice and snow and a friend that he’s missed seeing in person rather than on video chat.

But tonight, they’re ensconced in Victor and Yuuri’s apartment. Victor’s off dealing with a last minute lighting emergency—(“How the lighting designer failed to account for all of the sequins I’ll never know. It’s figure skating!”)—though Phichit suspects that it’s mostly to give Phichit a chance to spend time with Yuuri rather than Victor-and-Yuuri. There’s a movie on the flat screen behind them. They’d spent a little time playing with Yuuri’s Nintendo Switch before deciding to relive the nights they’d spent in a passably neat and somewhat shabby Detroit apartment.

“Do you want _What Happens in Phuket Stays In Phuket_ , _Tongue Thai-d_ , or _Turn Down for Wat?_ ” Phichit asks, bottles dangling from his fingers.

Yuuri looks over from the kitchen where he’s pouring them fresh cups of tea. “The blue one.”

“Excuse you, its cornflower with a pearlescent shimmer.”

“I bow to your expertise,” Yuuri says, placing their mugs on the low table in front of the couch and flopping down onto the cushions beside Phichit.

Phichit arches a perfectly manicured brow, “As you should, it’s my collection after all.”

“Which one are you going to wear?”

“ _Turn Down for Wat_ , obviously,” Phichit says, waving a taupe polish with silver shimmer in front of Yuuri’s face.

“How’s training at home?” Yuuri says, opening a bottle of polish.

“Well I don’t have to wade through five feet of snow to get to classes. And I haven’t had to hear someone call a dish with ketchup in it Thai food for over a year. So…no regrets.” 

“Mmmm, I miss that part about being home.” 

“So why don’t you visit?”

“Can’t. Not until summer at the earliest and it’s getting harder for Makkachin to travel now. Besides, as much as I miss Hasetsu, sometimes I think Victor misses it more. He’s started showing me houses for sale.”

Yuuri pauses and examines his work, “other hand.”

Phichit holds out his left hand, and Yuuri snags the bottle of base coat from the coffee table before uncapping the bottle.

“Sometimes, I miss Detroit. Not anything specific, just things like the two of us training together, or of sneaking out to Coldstone once the river finally started to thaw, or my favorite running route. I didn’t have to think about leasing versus buying, or down payments, or how to split my life between two timezones.”

“So come train with me again. You know my parents love you.” Phichit’s only half joking.

“I’m sure Vity—Victor would have something to say about it.”

Phichit spies the chipped polish on Yuuri’s toes. “I guess he can come too. If you let Victor give you another pedicure I’m sure you two can figure it out together.”

“I take it back. I don’t miss living with you at all,” Yuuri says, removing a stray bit of polish from the side of Phichit’s pinky. But he’s smiling and despite the fact that Russia is a frozen hellscape, Phichit feels warm knowing that even as the years re-shape their lives, they’ll still carve out a place for one another.

//

Skating at Yubileyny the next day is…an experience. Phichit’s grown used to having hours alone on the ice. Now he’s sharing it with Mila, who lifts little Yuri over her head without so much as blinking.

Phichit likes her already. He whips out his phone and snaps a photo before little Yuri’s face has a chance to twist itself into a scowl.

“Perfect,” Phichit says, as little Yuri attempts to wriggle free from Mila’s grasp. By the time little Yuri’s angrily glided over to him, the photo already has one hundred and fourteen likes.

“Don’t worry, I got your good side.”

“Take it down. Now.”

“And destroy the proof of our budding friendship? I’m hurt.”

Phichit’s phone buzzes. “Oh look, Otabek left a comment.” It’s a thumbs up emoji, which is more than he’s ever left on Phichit’s photos before.

“Delete it.”

“Sorry little Yuri, the internet is forever.”

Mila skids to a stop next to them. “Love the photo, truly iconic,” she says, a sly, pleased smile stretching across her lips.

“I needed to immortalize my visit somehow.”

“I will destroy you,” little Yuri snarls, reaching for Phichit’s phone. Phichit holds it up in the air, just out of Yuri’s reach.

Mila, looks at him, “we’re going to be best friends.”

The whole thing is going so well, Phichit doesn’t even see the imminent disaster approaching on the horizon.

//

It happens while they’re getting ready for their dress rehearsal, and it’s so awful that Phichit’s hand wobbles while applying his trademark eyeliner.

He puts it down on the worn wooden vanity, takes a deep breath, and turns around, “Georgi I need to talk to about your crimes against eyeliner.”

Georgi’s got a liberal definition of ‘eye’ and an even more liberal application of eye liner; it doesn’t just line his eyes—it’s lining his entire eye socket. And either his hand just slipped or the jagged black smudge on his left cheek is intentional. Phichit saw the makeup choices Georgi made for his program last year and it’s entirely possible Georgi made that mark as an aesthetic choice.

“Look I appreciate your decisions as a fellow artist, but as a makeup lover I would like to introduce you to the wonders of precise lines. There is such a thing as too much smokey eye.”

From her perch a few seats away, Mila giggles.

Phichit looks at Georgi’s face again, “if that was what you were going for,” he says doubtfully. “It looks more like panda smothered by Beijing smog.”

Phichit plucks a cotton round and a bottle of his normal makeup remover from his bag, then thinks twice before doubling back for the oil cleanser—because even micellar water has its limits and their name is Georgi Popovich.

“Georgi, I think that it’s time someone introduced you to a little thing that I like to call blending. Now what brushes and sponges do you use?”

Georgi’s make-up kit looks far too innocuous for the horrors it contains.

“Oh my god, you’re not supposed to actually use the applicators they include in the packages.”

Mila’s bent double laughing, and Phichit can see actual tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Gosha once screamed about being an evil witch in the middle of practice, why are you surprised he can’t apply eyeshadow correctly?”

Phichit just looks at him. “I seem to remember your raccoon eyes rite of passage in Barcelona.”

Little Yuri flushes, but doesn’t respond.

“Is this is ... is this a Russian thing? Is this part of your press training? Because if it is, I need to have Words with the person responsible. And I know it can’t be Lilia because anyone who can pull of a chartreuse coat is on another level. And Victor never—”

“Done,” Victor says from the corner. He places his hand under Yuuri’s chin and tilts it from side to side, examining his handiwork. Yuuri’s makeup is immaculate.

"I guess there's an exception to every rule.”

Mila catches her breath long enough to gasp out, “Phichit, please stay forever.”

//

The next day, as Phichit’s getting ready for the show, Little Yuri shoves a brown, slightly grease soaked paper bag into his hands with a gruff “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Piroshki. If Victor lets you leave Russia without trying him then he’s even more of an idiot than I thought.”

Then he plunks down a small make-up bag covered in cartoon tigers.

“Show me,” Yuri says, grimacing as though the words cost him something sacred.

“Can you do mine after?” Georgi asks, materializing from somewhere.

Phichit catches Yuuri’s eye across the dressing room. He’s smiling, clearly pleased. Phichit mirrors his grin and sets to work.

//

The show starts and Phichit skates out onto the ice. His theme this season is “compassion,” and as he performs, he thinks about Mila’s unwavering offers of friendship, of Yuri’s hard-won respect, of Georgi’s dramatic but ultimately earnest attempts at advice. By the time he unwinds himself from his program’s final spin into the ending pose, he’s decided that Mila, Yuri, and Georgi should come next time Victor and Yuuri visit him in Thailand. Weather aside, Russia isn’t that bad.


End file.
